12 Dates of Christmas
by One Great Mind
Summary: Successful career woman Ana runs her own salon and barber shop. Despite all the success, she feels lonely. To find love, she goes on 12 dates in Christmas season. But is she looking too far? Maybe the one she's looking for is the regular customer who happens to be a copper-haired CEO from across the street? This story is angst free. Read and chill. Margo
1. Chapter 1

**Hello guys! It's Margo! All My Life is in hiatus since I am busy writing my thesis story. But to compensate, I will publish my prewritten work. This story is very dear to my heart because this is really my way of writing. I love it light, humorous, and happy. Enjoy!**

 **The story is set in Christmas season.**

 **Chapter 1**

The older you get the less exciting birthdays become. What's the big fuss anyway? It's not like the world's going to change just because you turned a year older.

As I walk to my salon, my eyes can't help but look around the winter streets of New York. It's still pretty much the same although I just turned twenty-nine years old. Actually, twenty-nine isn't a bad number, right? It's not like you're going to be thirty the next day.

Okay, I admit it. I can't help but stress over my turning thirty in the next year. I don't know. It's just that it's a number I view as part of the "prophecies about me" list when I was in high school. Number 30 used to be just a number. Number 30 used to be a far vision. Number 30 used to be the age I know I'll be a great career and family woman at the same time.

The truth is it's already 365 days away and I've got the career woman title but I am nowhere near the family woman area.

My attention shifts to my salon. Why is it closed? That's really suspicious.

I go to the salon by 7:30 which is thirty minutes before the 8:00 a.m. opening time. The staff is supposed to come earlier than I am as they prepare all the tools and make sure that there is no hint of dust on any surface. Right now it's really weird as the salon is too dark. Are there even people inside?

There is no padlock on the glass door and my heartbeat accelerates as I suspect that we've been robbed. Oh no! I unconsciously recall my Jiu Jitsu moves since I took up self defense class ten years ago.

As I enter the salon ready to kick some butts, the lights turn on and they are too blinding for my eyes. There they are: my staffs! They are all wearing party hats. There are balloons everywhere you look and even confetti starts to fall like I've won or something. They are holding a three layered yellow cake. I'm guessing it's a lemon flavored one. Around them are "Happy Birthday" posters.

"Happy Birthday, Ana!" They all greet cheerfully.

I'm supposed to be happy. I should appreciate this but everywhere I look there is the number 30! I cannot contain it anymore. Do I really look thirty to them? What have I done? Suddenly I become conscious! Are my hair strands turning grey? Am I becoming wrinkly? Why is it that I look a year older than I already am?

Without hesitations, tears fall freely from my eyes. This has been so overwhelming. All I want to do is go home to Mr. Mittens, my cat and solve the mystery of why I look a year older than my actual age.

After they sing the birthday song, Chico points out, "Look, Ana is crying!"

"Tears of joy!" Leila exclaims.

My tears are overflowing as they come forward so I could blow all the candles on the cake. It is not the number 30 but there are thirty candles in total! I cannot take this anymore. This is enough.

I cry out, "No, these are not tears of joy! Do you think I'm happy that all of you think I'm thirty? I mean it's not like being thirty years old is wrong but I am just twenty-nine! I mean, do I look so old to you?"

Then, the silence follows. None of them are looking at me in the eye. My back is shaking from all the crying. Honestly, I've wanted to cry since I woke up today and these aren't happy tears at all.

When I look up, all of them are glaring at Jose.

Leila angrily shouts at her husband, "Jose, why did you put 30?!"

"She was born in 1988, right?"

"Yes and it is 2017 so that makes her 29!"

"Huh? I did the math and it is 30!"

We all shake our heads at Jose. Leila smacks him hard and he moans in pain. Now, that was a huge spoiler. They all look unhappy and it isn't right.

I wipe my tears away and shake it off. Enough of being a cry baby because it's time to be professional. I ignore my inner problems and regain my professional voice.

My voice just cracked a little, "Team, thank you for your efforts on my birthday. I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate it because I do. Thanks. By the way, we have fifteen minutes until the salon opens so let's wrap things up. Chico, make sure the newly delivered nail polishes are match to what we've ordered yesterday. Leila, please wipe the mirrors one last time. Hannah, make sure that the lavatory is fragrant enough for our guests. Please do make sure that it's freesia scent and Jose?"

He still looks shaken.

"Grab a marker, put an X on all the numbers 30's, and write my real age. Understood?"

I'm glad he finally understands.

I am an accomplished woman. I don't mean to brag but it's the fact. I didn't have the highest scores in school nor did I win an award, but I've always known that there is something special in me. And that is my interest in hairdressing and applying makeup.

All throughout my high school years, I get paid for doing the hairstyle and makeup for my classmates. Prom is the best season as all of the girls in my classroom would pay me just so they will look beautiful. Yes, it's very tiring but at least I earned my own money.

I come from a very humble family. I am an only child but it doesn't mean I get to have everything I want. My parents don't have shiny careers but I always have enough. None of them really believe that I could make it this far.

All the money I've earned in high school was kept instead of spent. Before I knew it, it was more than enough to buy the unused building five minutes away from our apartment. Without much ambition, I bought the two-storied building and did what I do best: hairdressing and makeup.

I will always remember that day when I was standing outside of the building and asked people if they needed a makeover and one of them actually did. I gave it my all. She entered my then unknown salon looking like the ugly duckling and exited looking like a swan. She told all of her friends and everybody just came. It wasn't just customers but applicants as well. The business grew well that I barely had the time to study for college.

When I was 21, I finally earned my diploma for Business and the salon's name is louder than ever. I call it the _Metamorphosis Prestige_.

Currently, the salon is still famous all over New York as we have at least four hundred fifty customers per day. The first floor is for hair and makeup while the second is for nails. Trust me, it has a relaxing ambiance as fresh plants and abstract paintings are displayed. We also have televisions on each floor and magazines are stacked, intricately checked that they are the latest issues.

Today is kind of different as there are objects reminding everyone that it's my birthday. I swear I have customers greeting me for like a hundred times already.

Mellow chatters are heard and as well as the moderate volume of the television. I roam around the place and it's the familiar things that I find the most appealing to my senses. I see the scissors artfully used by the hairdresser in a vertical cutting line. I hear the screams of the blower as it aims to get the hair dried up. It is excited to see the final look and the customer's reaction. I smell the scent of nail polish as it brings color the surface of someone's boring nails. I touch the backs of my employees, reminding them that they're doing well.

Most of all, I taste the happiness that comes from transformation.

I have employed thirty staffs and sometimes they don't even have time to rest. Among them, I have four which are the closest to me since they've been working with me in the early years of the salon.

Jose. He is one of my three barbers and he's a good one. I don't want the salon to be exclusive for women only. Men deserve to have transformation too. Buzzcut, Crewcut, Ivy League, Caesar Cut, name it! He can do it so well! He's a sweet husband to Leila and a loving father to their twins. I don't think there is anything he's not good at. Oh, there is: Math. He's bad at Math.

Leila. She's Jose's wife and my most remarkable nail artist. If it weren't for her, the salon wouldn't be much of a success. She started working for me when I was twenty and she twenty three. I'll never forget the day she only coated one customer's nails in one day. I almost went mad! We lost customers because they waited for too long. At the end of the day, I almost fainted when I saw how she painted the Taj Mahal _in detail_ on the fingernails of the woman. We earned $300.00 because of it. From that day onwards, we have this special called ' _Leila's Nail Art'_ and everybody books for a nail art day two months prior to the appointment.

Chico. He's one of the greatest hairdressers I have met my whole life. He does foiling at its finest and he gives the best tortoiseshells, which means a gradual shifting of the hair color from dark to light. He gives women the best looks and most of all; he talks to them like they've been close friends their whole lives. No wonder why people come here and ask "Where's Chico?" as soon as they step foot inside.

Hannah. She is the receptionist and I'm glad she finally came out of her shell. She joined the salon seven years ago. She couldn't even say a single word since she's too shy. She wanted to be a manicurist but her hands are too shaky. Instead of letting her go, I asked her to be the salon's receptionist. Little by little, she grew into this confident woman who would smile at anyone who enters the room. She would make them feel welcomed. She has come a long way.

Speaking of Hannah, she rushed to the bathroom so I take her place for a few minutes. A woman and her husband in their 60's come in so I greet, "Good Morning! Welcome to _Metamorphosis Prestige_! How can we help?"

This is the first time I've seen her so I am very interested.

"Oh dear, I want a haircut."

"What kind of haircut would that be?"

"Like this!" She exclaims while showing the image on her phone to me. She may be in her 60's but she has an iPhone and she loves Rihanna. Okay, she wants Rihanna's Undercut Pompadour hairstyle. It's when the sides are shaved and the hair in the middle is long and spiked. On top of it, when it isn't pointing upwards then it's pretty hard to maintain. Plus, it won't match her face shape which is oval.

"Oh, I see, Ma'am. May I have your name first?"

"It's Julie."

"Okay, Julie, I am Anastasia Steele but you can call me Ana. I can see that you're a big Rihanna fan and you want her hairstyle but may I suggest a better hairstyle which you won't ever regret?"

"What would that be?" She wonders.

"We could cut your hair into a bob. It's just that the layers on the right side would be longer than the left. Basically it's when the other half of your hair will freely flow right between your chin and shoulder while the other is tucked under your ear. It's going to be helpful as it will make your oval-shaped face thin and balanced. On top of it all, Rihanna had that haircut too."

"Oh my goodness! When?!"

"Her Umbrella era," I confirm congratulating myself that I remember that giant hit and her hair.

"I love Umbrella! Ella, Ella, eh, eh, eh, under my umbrella!" Julie sings joyfully while I laugh awkwardly. She doesn't have the best singing voice but at least she's happy.

When she's done singing, I call Chico to inform, "Chico, this is Julie. Julie, this is Grey. He's one of our bests. And Chico, Julie will have the Angled Bob."

She corrects me, "The _Rihanna_ Angled Bob." She emphasizes Rihanna's name.

Chico smiles and leads her to her seat.

I guess that's what I love about this business. It's more than just hairdressing, makeup, and manicure. It is seeing a person develop self-confidence. I just want to be the person who would prove you wrong when you think you're ugly and who would prove you right when you think that you are going to be more beautiful. I want people to believe in their own metamorphosis. That's why it's the name of my salon.

Apart from the metamorphosis, one thing I love about my salon is that it tells me that there so many stories to tell. From the people who come and go, we learn a lot of beautiful tales. There was a man who explored all the forty eight states with his bicycle, a woman who gave up her child for a closed adoption only to have her as a student years later, and an old man who remembers his father's story during the Second World War. There are so many stories to tell and even observations make you feel touched.

Observations such as now when Julie is enjoying her haircut while talking to Chico, her husband sits patiently on the waiting area flipping the pages of Top Gear Magazine. They glance at each other from time to time and I can't help but feel jealous for not having that in my life.

I just want that. Is that too much to ask?

It just hits me that I am not getting any younger. I am not going to be in my twenties forever. I will get older and someday I will cease to exist. Then, the hollowness in my chest expands. It has bugged me for years but since I've been so focused on my salon, I quickly ignored it. Now it can't be ignored. For months I've been coming home to an apartment with no person waiting for me. Don't get me wrong. I do love Mr. Mittens although his poop stinks. I do love hanging out with my friends and taking _Instagram_ -worthy pictures. I do love my salon possibly more than myself.

The eighteen year old me asked myself, "When will you go on a date?" and I will quickly answer, "at twenty-five years old". I turned twenty-five, then twenty-six, then twenty-seven, then twenty-eight, now I'm twenty-nine. Next year, I'll be thirty.

Life passed me by but I won't let it go too far.

This brings me to my newest goal: Find a man I can call my own . . . before the age of thirty.

Find a man who will love me for me, a man who will support my dreams, a man who can pretend that he understands women's beauty products, a man who I'll go home to in the good days or bad, a man who'll never get mad when my hairstylist is taking too long. _The_ man who'll make me feel like I'm no longer alone.

Tonight Hannah set me up on a date. This will be my first date after eight years. I stopped dating at the age of twenty one when I decided that my business needed more attention.

Now, it's time for me to focus on my personal life and fill this emptiness inside.

"Ana, are you okay?" Hannah just came back from the lavatory.

"Yes, I am. Just thinking about the date tonight."

"It will go well," she assures.

I have a feeling that she's lying though. Gosh, I hope not.

"Whose birthday is it?!" Julie asks while Chico glamorously shapes her hair.

"It's Ana's birthday!" Chico answers.

Julie screams, "Happy thirty-ninth birthday, Ana!"

It turns out that the one balloon placed right above the mirror Julie is facing has 39th on it. Jose put an X on the zero and replaced it with nine. Instead of 30, it said, 'Happy 39th Birthday Ana'!

Jose, give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire you.

 **And there goes the first chapter. There will be 15 chapters and I will be uploading three today. Can you make a review for each chapter? Lol. Thank you!**

 **Margo.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _Date #1_

 _Date: Orlando Greenfield_

 _Age: 32 years old_

 _Occupation: Something Scientific_

 _Looks like: Adam Levine but with no tattoos and is shorter and is not that handsome._

I try to look my best for this date. Who knows? Maybe this guy could be the one.

My brown hair is perfectly ironed and it falls straight to my waist. The dress I'm wearing is a white one embracing every curve of my body. Not that I have that much curves. To add design to the plain white color, blue floral patterns are embedded on the sides just like a classy doodles. I gotta say: I really look nice tonight.

The date is set in a Pasta Restaurant and everything about this place is posh. The illuminating yellow lights come from the chandeliers. The ambiance gets so much more relaxing because of the live opera singer playing in the background. He's really good.

I spot my date and the first thing I notice is his posture. It's like he was born royalty. Most guys I know of have slouched backs but this guy? He's back is so straight that it reminds me of a ruler. Like a huge ruler.

"Hello, nice to meet you!" I say as soon as I reach our table.

"Good evening, nice to meet you too." We shake hands and I can sense that he's a serious man. Well, I like serious men a lot. He adds, "You may take your seat."

Wow, that's so formal.

After taking my seat, I take a moment to gaze at him. He is not that good looking but he's not bad looking. His looks are average. To be honest, he looks like the less handsome version of Maroon 5's Adam Levine. Of course, he's not the band kind of guy. I'm guessing he is an Engineer?

He clears his throat, "To formally introduce myself, I am Orlando Greenfield. I graduated summa cum laude back in college. I studied a certain branch of science that could contribute to research and discoveries of the world. Right now I am working as a scientist for astrogeology. In case age is a big deal to you, I am thirty two."

I give him a smile, "Oh no, age is not a big deal to me." Which is true, right? Age is not a big deal, right? Ugh. Why do I feel like I am lying to myself?

"How about you? I know you are Hannah's boss but can you tell me more?"

I talk about myself following his format, "I am Anastasia Steele but you can call me Ana. I have a degree in business. I have my own salon called Metamorphosis Prestige. I am—"I whisper, "-twenty-nine."

Unexpectedly he asks, "I am fully aware that you own a salon but how do you think it contributes to the society?"

I try my best not to get offended. His tone of voice almost implies that beauty salons are shallow when they're really not. I take a stand, "Beauty salons help increase the self-esteem of people. That's pretty much a big deal."

"So are you saying that physical appearance equals the value of self-esteem?"

"No, that's not what I meant. All I am saying is that physical appearance is a huge factor to self-esteem. If it doesn't matter then why do we have suicides because of insecurities? There are kids there who get picked on for not defining the standard of beauty, you know."

All he does is shrug. After all of that speech, all he can do is shrug? Well, he should salute me. That was spoken on the spot!

"Let's order?" I ask trying to sound calm.

He calls the waiter and he makes a questionable choice of pasta. He chooses the broccoli pasta and that's really weird. I am not a huge fan of broccoli at all. I don't like broccoli with buttered chicken. I don't like it with pasta. I just don't like it at all.

"How about you, Mademoiselle? What's your pasta for tonight?"

"I am going to order two slices of Pissaladiere."

The waiter almost replies but Orlando corrects me, "You are pronouncing it wrong. It's Pissaladiere not Pissaladiere." The first one is spoken quickly which he claims to be the correct one. The second which is my own pronunciation is slower. Oh, well, I am sorry. I didn't know that it should be fast and not slow.

I turn to the waiter and force a smile, "Two slices of PISSALADIERE!" I shout the last word with the correct pronunciation.

The waiter gives an awkward smile.

Looking at Orlando, he doesn't seem to feel that he got me feeling so annoyed. What's wrong with this guy?

Well, I decide not to spoil the evening just because he's a know-it-all. I straighten my back and regain my patience. I try to justify by thinking that first impressions aren't always good. You have to go way beyond your first thoughts for a person, right?

"So Astrogeology, huh? What's that?"

He answers in a monotonous voice, "For your inf0rmaton, Astrogeology is the study of extra-terrestrial geology which means that we study the rocks of other planets other than the Earth. In short, it's planetary geology."

"Wow! So what is your favourite . . . planet?"

I don't think the question is normal for a first date but it seems pretty normal to him. Orlando answers, "My favourite planet is Mercury because . . ."

He starts talking about Mercury in a different language. Well, I am sure that he's speaking English but the scientific terminologies? They are all strangers to me. I try to keep up but I just can't. After a solid five minute speech, he questions back, "What is your favourite planet, Ana?"

"Uhm . . . Earth? Because . . ."

"Because?"

I turn serious, "Because we should love our territory. It's like Patriotism."

He is not impressed at all.

I change the subject by asking normal first date questions.

"What do you do for fun, Orlando?"

"Fun?"

"What are your hobbies? The things you enjoy doing?"

"Scrabble."

"Scrabble?"

"Of course, scrabble is the most fun game in the world!"

I never thought at sitting silently while thinking of words is fun. That's fun for him? What about video games or sports? My other side says that we all have our individual differences so we just have to respect that, right?

I try to convince myself, "Scrabble is so fun!"

"Yes, it is and you know my biggest achievement playing scrabble?"

"What?"

"I formed the word Kamilaroi."

"Oh, cool. What's that?"

"Kamilaroi are people of Australian Aboriginal background. How about you? What's your biggest scrabble achievement?"

"Monkey," I say without hesitations.

"Monkey? That is so simple." Why does Orlando sound like he's so disgusted?

"Well, it was a pretty big word. Back then when I was eight."

"You haven't played scrabble since you were eight?"

"Nope," I say with a popping 'p'.

"What a sad life," he states while shaking his head. Gosh, he sounds like I committed a crime and have been spending the last twenty one years in prison.

I almost tell him that I am not sad for not playing scrabble. I am sad for _valid_ reasons! But then, the waiter arrives with our meal. Great, I am more excited to eat food than to get to know this Orlando guy who knows about everything.

While we're eating he asks, "What are the professions of your parents?"

"Professions of my parents?" Why does that even matter?

"Yes, your parents. What do they do?"

I am proud enough to tell him, "My father is a plumber. Trust me, he really knows a lot. He's a great one. He's only one call away to save your plumbing issues. My mother, on the other hand, is an assistant kindergarten teacher. I didn't grow up with everything but I couldn't ask for more. When I finally earned enough, I decided to give them a treat. They're in Europe right now, having the time of their lives."

As expected, he isn't really impressed. I give him the sorry-my-parents-don't-like-science smile and that pisses him off.

I don't even ask him but he tells me the background of his family.

Apparently, his mother happens to be a lithologist. She studies rocks. She thinks rocks are fun. Orlando said that when his mother was young she'd rather have rocks for gifts rather than Barbie dolls. Also, his father is super smart too as he is an immunopathologist. He studies how people can be immune from certain diseases. The other words Orlando speaks are pretty deep. I can't really keep up with them. His younger sister who also happens to be twenty nine years old is really into paleolimnology.

As usual, I ask, "What's that?"

"It's the study of ancient fish."

"Huh?"

He smiles proudly.

Then I get a glimpse of what could be. If Orlando and I would be officially together then I would have to meet their family. They would be like Orlando too! They would talk about science while I sit there counting sheep in my head. We would also play Scrabble and I would feel stupid for not forming the word 'Kamilaroi'.

Orlando starts a topic, "You have to know the latest discovery we have about aliens."

"Aliens? Wow!" Right. He studies about planets so there must be aliens.

"The latest discovery is . . ." I cannot concentrate enough. The most horrifying sight is officially before me. I can't hear the words he is saying. Everything is in slow motion. The background music is in mute. All that I can focus on is his talking mouth and it makes me want to vomit. This is worse than a horror movie:

There's a piece of broccoli caught between his sorta yellow front teeth.

Ugh! I feel so disgusted. I hate broccoli between teeth.

"So what do you think?"

"Huh?" I am back to reality where people are around and there is a guy singing opera in the background. Still, I can't get over the catastrophe between his teeth.

"What do you think about the discovery we made?"

"Cool. Very cool."

He looks so offended, "You think alien invasions are cool?"

"Well, yeah! We like visitors, right? We have to be . . . _hospitable._ " What am I doing? This is really embarrassing. This date has to stop.

There he goes again. Orlando's looking at me as if I am insane and dumb.

He says, "You don't know anything about alien invasions at all. You know nothing."

"And you know everything," I reply sarcastically.

"Yes, I do." Wow! He just admitted that he's a know-it-all. A big congratulations to him then. He really is a huge achiever.

I finally decide that this has to stop right now. "Orlando, this is not going to work so I have to go. Thanks for tonight." I stand up before saying, "I do know something you don't."

"What?" He is puzzled.

"There's broccoli trapped between your front teeth," I tell him before walking out of the restaurant. Well, that was such a disaster.

Then I go home to my apartment walking past couples who are kissing or hugging or holding hands. Yes, the world can be that mean sometimes.

Well, Ana, happy birthday to you.

 **That was date number 1, guys. Tell me what you think.**

 **Let's proceed to the next chapter. Christian arrives.**

 **Margo.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I don't get it! Why did you even set me up with him?" I keep complaining to Hannah about that horrible date last night. Didn't she know that no girl likes a guy who pretends that he knows everything about the world?

Hannah is apologetic when she replies, "I just thought that you would be great partners. He was our high school valedictorian. He's a successful man and you, Ana, you are a successful woman for having this successful business."

"Yeah, that would go on well if only he is interested with my success too. Trust me, he only talks about himself."

She looks down and says, "I just thought that you would talk about your night and how successful the two of you are."

"You know what we talked about, Hannah? We talked about planets. Planets!"

Then, the Hannah I first met came back. I mentally chastise myself for not being sensitive. Hannah is such a softy. You must be careful when it comes to her as she is very fragile. Before I know it, her fingers are quivering and her upper lip is hidden behind her lower lip and her b0dy visibly trembles as if she wants to cry at this moment.

I immediately lock her in for an embrace, "Oh Hannah, don't cry. I am not mad, okay?"

"You are not mad?" She looks up to reveal her glistening hazel eyes. She reminds me of a helpless child.

"No, I am not mad. I am just complaining. Now focus on your job, okay?"

She nods and her working demeanor comes back. She welcomes new customers while keeping record of our days in the blue notebook. Wendy as a friend must be understood. She must not be yelled at. One raise of a voice can make her hide in a corner and cry. It would be annoying and there are times when you can't control it but you just have to understand her.

Hannah survived an abusive marriage. She was nineteen when she got married and twenty-five when she got divorced. There's always fear in her eyes and I hope one day it will disappear. Having her as a worker is a struggle too especially when we have complaints. I just hope nobody complains today.

Somebody complains!

At ten thirty in the morning, the salon's door swings open to give an entrance to a fiery angry woman. Her skin is so red from the anger she's feeling. Everybody's attention is caught when she slams her palm to Hannah's reception desk.

She starts yelling, "How can you all be so stupid?! How can you do this to me? All I want is to have the perfect nail color for my daughter's wedding tomorrow and what have you done? You painted my nails black! You painted them black! Do you want my daughter to think that I don't like her husband? Her husband is a pilot! Who doesn't like a pilot for a son-in-law?! I want a refund. I want a refund!"

This woman is one of our regular customers. Her name is Velma and this has been the first time she ever complained. Velma and Hannah are trapped in a staring contest when Hannah bursts out crying. Yes, she's crying like a baby. Velma immediately steps back completely fazed about my friend's reaction.

I immediately run to them and give Hannah a hug. I call one of my barbers who is just sitting down to take her in the staff room and make her feel relaxed.

Velma clears her throat and guiltily says, "I don't mean to make her cry but I just don't want black nails for my daughter's wedding."

The thing about customer service is that you always have to apologize. The customer is always right so you just have to deal with that genuinely.

"Velma, you have been a valued customer for years and we are very sorry for this inconvenience. If I were you, I'd be mad as well. Black for a wedding? That is not acceptable."

"Right! And your stupid pedicurist painted my nails black instead of lilac!"

"The pedicurist is Amanda I am so sorry for this dilemma," I want to yell at that girl. She's only been here for weeks but she's causing nuisance. Velma spots Amanda from behind me and begins yelling all the words she yelled at Hannah. She claimed that black is a color for a funeral and not for a wedding, and that she doesn't want her daughter to think that "she doesn't like a pilot for a son-in-law".

"Huh?" Velma becomes more aggravated when Amanda was in her earphones the whole time she yelled. I hate this day! This has been too dramatic.

"Amanda, please go to the staff room, okay? We are going to have a talk later. Velma, don't worry because we are going to redo your nails."

"I want a refund!"

"As much as I'd like to give you a refund, I'm afraid that it's against the rules. But don't you worry. The redo is free, okay? Now come with me." I lead her upstairs and I am glad that she's very calm. The rule in handling complaints in a beauty salon include redo but not refund. After all, the goal is to make them feel good about themselves.

She sits down the leather chair and I watch one of my employees apply acetone to erase the black nail polish.

I am glad that this has been resolved. What I need to do is fire Amanda.

"Hey Ana! What happened downstairs?" Leila asks while working on a teenager's nails.

I tell her all about the drama and she disapproves about Amanda's behavior. In fact, Leila gives me more reason to fire Amanda.

"That girl is not focused on her job. Why is she even here? You have to love your job to here. Trust me, when you are not looking, she puts on her earphones and listens to random music. Ugh. I hate it. It's just so unprofessional. This isn't the first time we received complaints because of her."

That's true. Velma's complaint would be the third. The first is when a customer becomes so offended because of her rudeness. The second is when she claimed she's a nail artist but ended up scribbling instead. She would always beg me not to fire her because "she needs her job". But if she truly needs her job, then she must show value to it.

Leila adds, "What happened earlier was that Velma told her to paint her nails lilac but she must have only lip read since she painted them black. Amanda was in her earphones the whole time. Meanwhile, Velma's too busy to notice since she was on the phone the whole time. She's pretty busy for tomorrow's wedding."

"I will deal with Amanda later," that's all I tell Leila.

I shift my attention to Leila's work. Is that a face on each of the teenager's nails? Yes, it's a face of a young boy!

"Oh, that looks good. May I know who that is?" I ask the teenager.

"That's my boyfriend. We are going to have our first anniversary tomorrow."

Huh? So this is her gift? His face on her nails?

"How old are you?" I ask in a tone which she won't find offensive.

"Fourteen."

That's it! Tomorrow there's going to be a wedding and an anniversary for kids and what about me? What about me?

I go downstairs again.

 **~~~23 Dates~~~**

Hannah is fine now. She's back to greeting everyone with a smiling face, but deep inside I know that she's scared. I really feel for her. No woman deserves to feel the same way she does. I admire her strength though. I know that she really wants to help herself.

Another regular customer enters the salon and it's the hotshot young CEO from across the street. I swear everybody swoons when they see him. I cannot blame them though. He really is hot.

Christian Grey is the CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. It's the eighty storied building right in front of the salon. All he has to do is cross the pedestrian lane and he's going to the have the greatest haircut of his life. He doesn't let anyone cut his hair if it's not Jose. I cannot blame him though. Jose's a really good barber and he knows what's best for the customers. It's an honor to have a CEO come here for a haircut twice a week for the last two years.

He opts for the combination of Slick Back and Side Part haircut. His face becomes more attractive especially when his hair is copper to the left side while the right side is cleanly shaved. He becomes manlier with that. Apart from his hair, what makes him more attractive is his neat stubble which is maintained perfectly by my salon itself.

His eyes are so grey it's almost transparent and his jaw is perfectly shape to the point that he could be an actor to play Superman. He's always in his white shirt unbuttoned on top. Unlike the other days, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows revealing his set of tattoos. How can he get to be this hot? It almost hurts.

Yes, I had a huge crush on him before but I stopped since he doesn't seem to be interested with anyone. He doesn't even talk to Jose. When he comes here, he grabs the latest copy of Forbes Magazine and reads it with scrutiny. He doesn't really talk much.

My over-imaginative side would say that Christian Grey might be a wolf and his company may be all about wolves. Maybe everybody is a werewolf there and that's why he's so secretive. Maybe the tattoos on his arms are his marks for being the chosen Alpha. Oh, what if this is true. I imagine Christian howl and it's the sexiest thing ever.

"Ana, why are you howling?"

Oh, no. I zoned out and Chico saw me. I immediately straighten my back and answer, "I wasn't howling. I was trying to whistle."

"Okay," Chico looks unconvinced while dying the hair of a girl in her twenties. He adds, "So how was your date last night?"

"Don't remind me," I snort.

The moment Chico uttered the word "date", I saw Christian Grey's eyes piercingly stare at me in my peripheral vision. There was something there that I couldn't point out. It was like . . . anger coming from his eyes. But maybe I'm being over-imaginative again?

"That bad, huh?" Chico continues.

"He likes planets, Chico. He is practically in love with planets. I mean there's nothing wrong about that but could he just refrain from making me feel like I am stupid? I mean it's not my fault that I am not scholarly like his family."

"Doesn't he think that you're a successful woman for putting up this business?"

"He thinks that beauty salons don't contribute to the society."

Chico gasps and he touches his chest. He feels so betrayed.

"That's how I felt last night," I tell Chico.

I don't even want to remember yesterday. I commend my staff for throwing all of the balloons away. There is no trace of my twenty ninth birthday yesterday and that makes me feel so much better. The only good thing that happened was when I went home and my parents sent me a birthday message in a form of a video. That was the only good thing. Oh, and Mr. Mittens too. He was such a great cat last night.

Chico informs, "I have a friend who wants to date."

My interest is suddenly grabbed, "Really?"

"If it's fine with you then you're gonna see each other next week. Trust me, he's harmless."

"Good, I will see him then. What's his name?"

"Chase"

"Chase," I say his name like it's the most delicate name in the world. In fact, it's a really lovely name. What if . . . he could be the one? Why am I feeling excited already? The date's next week!

Concealing my excitement I ask the girl Grey is attending to, "Hello Ma'am. What's the color you chose for your hair?"

She cheerfully answers, "Blue!"

"Cool! May I know why?"

"I love Cookie Monster."

Oh, well.

Hannah needs to use the lavatory so I take her place again. I receive the payments while the tips are personally given to the personnel. Christian Grey is done with his haircut and there he goes again: looking like a werewolf supermodel.

"What a lovely haircut, Sir!" I say cheerfully as soon as he stands before me.

He doesn't say anything. His intimidating aura precedes him once more. He pulls his expensive wallet out and gives me the payment.

"Thank you, Sir! I hope you have a great day. See you next week."

Yes, Christian Grey comes here every week for "maintenance". Sometimes he would come twice a week. If you ask me, he doesn't need to come per week. His hair doesn't grow that fast.

He shocks me with his response, "You're going out on a date?"

I am too astounded to speak. I slowly nod my head.

I can't read his emotions afterwards. He seems so mysterious to me even when he speaks. Those grey eyes are so much of a mystery.

Before he exits the spa he leaves me even more astounded, "I know it's a bit late but happy birthday."

I am left frozen like a statue staring at the newly closed door.

 **What do you think about the story? I will update the next chapter.**

 **Thank you so much for reading!**

 **Thoughts?**

 **Margo.**


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